


Testing Waters

by JasnNCarly



Series: Jon Moxley (Dean Ambrose) & You [50]
Category: Professional Wrestling, WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Tumblr, greygirlmoxley, wwe imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 23:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19365937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JasnNCarly/pseuds/JasnNCarly
Summary: Prompt: One night stands and awkward getaways.





	Testing Waters

Weeks later, you still can’t get him off your mind; clumsy kisses faintly laced with alcohol and grabby hands before you see him leaving, your vision still fogged by your inebriated state. You had no courage to speak to him, avoiding him. If he had snuck out in the early morning, Dean must have wanted to avoid conversation about this.

That was somewhat fine with you. You didn’t want to be known as the diva for a one night stand; you were embarrassed enough as is because women like Naomi made a point of telling you how shameless you were in your flirting that night. It was not becoming of a diva that had recently made the jump to the main roster, so you took it as a sign to work harder.

You were first to the local gym, first to the arena, and always meeting with other divas to go over ring performances. The mistake with Dean Ambrose may have made you a better wrestler, as much as you may hate to admit it. If you happened to pass him, you kept it casual and offered a polite smile, moving your feet a little faster in the opposite direction.

You wandered into the stands to take in the arena layout; headphones blaring as you mentally planned your entrance and went over the match in your mind on repeat. It is then when you feel a hand lightly squeezing your shoulder, causing you to yank your headphones back and shoot your eyes over your shoulder. When he gives a small nod, wearing a tiny smirk, you roll your eyes and lean back in your seat, “What’s up, Reigns?”

“How very formal of you, (Y/N)?” Roman leans forward, propping his arms on the back of the chair right beside you, “You good?”

You take a minute then nod, “Yeah. Why?”

“Nothing, I just—got the idea that maybe you had something going on.” He waits, gazing at you expectantly, only to have you shrug your shoulders and return your eyes to the ring, “All right, let me try a different approach here. You got someone waiting for you back home?”

“What?” You know there’s no way he’s asking for himself, not with his beautiful family at home. Narrowing your eyes, you cross your arms and tilt your head, “Who’s asking?”

“Me.”

It hits you. Now, you know the looks aren’t in your head. Dean’s been watching you since that night, but he’s done nothing to get a clear answer for himself; he’s done nothing to make you believe it will ever be anything more than that one night. You stand to your feet, giving Roman your best glare as he winces in a way that says ‘oh, crap’ without you say a word, “If you have a friend who has a question for me? Have him find his balls and talk to me himself.”

Ignoring his breathy call after you, slightly amused, you pull your headphones back on and look for a corner you could hide in backstage. You are so pissed that you nearly punch a wall, but instead find a nook blocked by a black curtain and lean back against the wall, head against the brick as you force deep breaths. You just need the edge to go away before the show begins.

Breaths almost even, you feel a hand clasp yours and a rough thumb over caress your knuckles; it’s him. It’s Dean. You know it without opening your eyes and swallow hard, “You haven’t talked to me in weeks. Sure it’s safe to just grab my hand?”

His free hand eases your headphones off your ears before his graveled tone interrupts the still air, “Thought I’d take a shot since I found my balls and all.”

You smile in spite of yourself, opening your eyes and leaving your hand within his, “What are you doing, Dean?”

“Possibly making myself look like an even bigger asshole than I already have.” Dean’s comment caused you to frown, as he draws a deep breath inward, “Is it too late to start over?”

You want to ask him if your night was that bad together, but instead just take your hand out of his and try to melt further into the wall. This action speaks volumes as you look away from him and try to think of a witty escape.

When his hands slide onto the curves of your hips, his body centimeters away, your eyes can’t help but drift upward into his, the steel shade causing your heart to pound out of control.

“I’m screwing this up. I’m sorry…I’m still kicking my own ass for walking out.”

“You are?”

He must have spotted the hope in your stare, a crooked smile curling the corner of his mouth, “Yeah…I just—I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable about—”

“I was more uncomfortable waking up alone.” You hate that you’ve admitted it, but you’re ecstatic that he gives the small tilt of his head which signals he shares your sentiment. Brave, you cover his hands (still on your hips) with your own and curl your fingers around them, “I’d be happy to start over if it meant you stop walking away.”

“From now on, I can promise I ain’t walking anywhere but to you, (Y/N).”


End file.
